


For a rose of Beltane

by Feanoriel



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Tam Lin (Traditional Ballad)
Genre: (nothing graphic of course), A lot of redemption arcs, Attempt at Humor, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Christianity, Dysfunctional Family, Everyone Has Issues, F/M, Family Drama, Galahad has issues, Implied Sexual Content, Janet has issues, M/M, Mordred has Issues, Period Typical Attitudes, Scotland, Sorry Not Sorry, The Author Regrets Nothing, Various references to celtic mythology, as usual, do not take this seriously, the Faeries love messing up with people's life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 03:27:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19076548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feanoriel/pseuds/Feanoriel
Summary: In which Janet has issues, Mordred has issues, Galahad has issues, and the Fey love to mess up with people's life (as they usual do)





	For a rose of Beltane

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, very thanks to [Cherepashka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cherepashka/pseuds/Cherepashka)for the beta reading! 
> 
> Two little notes: I know that the most common interpretation of the Ballad wants that between the Faerie Queen and Tam Lin there is a relationship of sexual nature, but I've decided to interpretate it like the relationship between a mother and an adoptive son (due to the fact that in my headcanon Tam Lin was very young when the Faerie Queen kidnapped him). I took the idea from the retelling of the Ballad of Tam Lin of Kathleen McGowan, that I liked a lot. I hope it will be appreciated all the same!
> 
> Another thing: this is the totally unplanned sequel of a fic I wrote two years ago ( [this one](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11679198)). It's not necessary to read it first for understanding this fic (especially because it's written in my mother-tongue -that's not English), the only thing you need to know about, it's that Galahad discovered that he had fallen in love with Mordred.
> 
> Well, that's all! I hope you like it!

Far down the path of firelight dreams  
in the blue-spun twilight hours.  
Along the lane of winding and silk  
towards the winged and sacred bowers.  
Alone and aloof  
in a Fairyland Fanfare  
where the warrior child  
can hide away in his lair.  
[Falconer - Fairyland Fanfare]

 

For seventeen years, Janet’s life was totally, perfectly normal and quiet, almost dull. She was the daughter of the Laird of Carterhaugh, which had permitted to her to learn how to write, to read, and to do a lot of things that weren’t permitted to the girls of the smallfolk, like hunting or learning the noble art of falconry.

But there was truly nothing that distinguished her from all the other girls of a noble family. Janet wasn’t the last descendant of a long dynasty of enchantresses, or a warrior queen, or even a legendary beauty. She was pretty, of course, but not an astonishing beauty like Queen Guinevere or Iseult La Belle.

Her older brothers were knights, of course, but despite living between the realm of King Arthur, who still ruled over the England, and the realm of Morgause, the Queen of Air and Darkness, in the deep north of the Orkney Islands, they had fought against nothing worse than the few raids of the Northernmen along the coasts of Scotland. 

Janet wasn’t supposed to do, in her life, something much more than marrying the son of a lord and giving birth to his children, and, one day, ruling over Carterhaugh, thanks to the last remains of the matriarchal society that had once lived in those lands. 

That was, at least, until that day of Beltane. 

*

 _Of course_ , Janet knew the admonitions of her nurse: don’t enter alone in the woods of Carterhaugh, don’t pick the roses of the Fairy Folk, and, if you are so unlucky to meet the Fairy Folk, don’t give them your name. Don’t eat their food, don’t drink their wine, and absolutely don’t listen them. 

_Of course_ , she knew. But all the same, that day of Beltane she had decided to go into the woods of her lands, alone and dressed in her finest dress, made of green velvet, with a golden ribbon in her hair. 

And if she chanced to meet one of the Fairy Folk … _I’m the heir of Carterhaugh,_ thought Janet. _They can’t forbid me from picking my own roses._

So she had picked one white rose from a lonely well in the middle of the woods; it was a place people usually avoided, saying it was haunted, often the Fairy Folk were seen. Thus it came as no surprise to her when she heard the sound of the hooves of a big horse approaching. 

She wasn’t even much surprised that the elfin-knight, once he had removed his silver helm, was revealed to possess an astonishing beauty, with long, silky, silver hair and shining grey eyes. After all, everybody knew that the Fairy Folk were all either creatures of hellish shapes or as beautiful as the angels in Heaven.

He had asked a prize from her for the rose, but he had offered her a choice: her jewels, or her maidenhood. 

Maybe she had been foolish. Maybe she had been silly. After all, even if her father wasn’t a great king, she surely didn’t lack for jewels in her castle. 

But, deep in her heart, she was tired. She had thought about the fact that one day she would end up marrying a dull son of a dull lord and giving him heirs; suddenly, she had known which choice she truly wanted.

So, she rose on her feet, and kissed the elfin-knight’s sweet lips – Tam-Lin, that was his name – and didn’t move when his hands strayed from her hair to her back, and then under her dress. 

*

It had _consequences_. Being a pregnant girl in Medieval Scotland surely wasn’t simple, especially when the father of your baby was a knight of the Fairy Folk. 

At least her father was understanding. When Janet told him that she was pregnant, her nurse softly started to cry, but the Laird of Carterhaugh met her gaze straight-on, and said: “Janet, my little flower, please, tell me again: who is your father’s child?” 

“He said that he is a knight of the Faerie Queen,” Janet replied, blushing a little. “His name is Tam-Lin, he told me.”

The Lord of Carterhaugh took a deep breath: “Well, at least he isn’t one of those bloody Englishmen.” And he ordered the servants to bring him a pint of his favorite malt whiskey. 

The nurse embraced Janet like she was still a little child, continuing to sob.

“Oh my poor Janet,” she cried. “My poor Janet. Those wicked creatures. It’s not the first time they’ve done such things. My mother told me that when she was but a little girl, the Fairy Folk kidnapped the grandson of the Laird of Roxburgh, and he was never seen again.” 

“Who?” Janet had never heard this name before. 

“The grandson of the Laird of Roxburgh. It happened a long time ago, when my mother was still a child, but she always remembered how the bells rang for three days in grief. She said that the child was the finest boy of Scotland,” the nurse sobbed again. “She told me that he was so impulsive that he went alone into those woods, and then the Faerie Queen kidnapped him and brought him to her lands.” 

Thomas of Roxburgh. It couldn’t be just a coincidence, Janet thought. 

*

There was only one thing she could do. She couldn’t keep the baby: there was no future for an offspring half-Fey and half-human. The Church would call the child an abomination, the common-folk would shun it, and the High Lords would ally against Carterhaugh for daring to raise such a creature in their castle. 

Janet had heard of what happened in distant Wales to a boy named Merlin, born by no human father, whom King Vortigern had tried to sacrifice to placate the rage of two dragons. She didn’t want such things to happen to her child. 

Her father’s priest suggested Janet take vows as a nun, and bring the child with her. Maybe raising it in the house of Our Lord would nullify the half-demoniac nature of the baby, he told her. And maybe, if it was a boy, he would grow up into a great knight and a defender of Christianity, like Sir Galahad. 

Janet replied dryly that there was little chance that would happen, because not even Merlin, who was baptized as a true Christian, ever became a knight in the name of Our Lord; that there was also the possibility that the child would be a girl; and that she _absolutely wasn’t suited to living like a nun, thanks very much_. 

So, it was on a lonely Wednesday of July that she ventured again into the wood of Carterhaugh, searching for herbs that would help her abortion. Through some twisted irony, she found what she needed near the well where everything had begun. 

After she had collected the herbs she needed, Janet decided to pick another rose. If Tam-Lin appeared, it wouldn’t be a bad thing.

She had truly fallen in love with him. Whether it was love at first sight, or simply that he had fulfilled her desire for freedom, she had passed the last months thinking about him with longing, despite everything. 

Janet had dreamed of him, during all her lonely nights, of those hauntingly beautiful grey eyes, of the soft texture of his lips on her own, of the tenderness with which he had taken her maidenhood. 

So she couldn’t avoid smiling when she heard the sound of hooves.

And Tam-Lin was there, standing on his grey stallion. But before she could say anything, he spoke: “I know what you’re going to do. Janet, I beg you: don’t.”

Janet looked at him straight in the eyes, those supernatural, shining grey eyes, and crossed her arms: “Do I have another choice? This child has no future, and I’m left alone.”

“You’re not alone, Janet.” He dismounted from his horse. “I swear you that.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked. She didn’t move when Tam-Lin came near her. “Are you going to leave the Faerie Land forever and live forever with me as the father of my child … Thomas of Roxburgh?”

For a moment, there was a flash of hesitation in those beautiful, eerie grey eyes. Janet could see it. 

“Thomas of Roxburgh,” the elfin-knight muttered, carefully pronouncing that name. “I remember … I remember this name.”

“It’s your name,” she said to him. Janet had no idea what had happened to him in the Faerie Lands, in the hands of the Faerie Queen. Some people said that the Faerie Queen was benevolent and generous towards those that deserved it, but that she also could be cruel and merciless towards those that offended her. 

“My name,” Tam-Lin murmured. “Sometimes, there are images and memories that cross my mind, but I’ve never managed to say if they’re true or only mere dreams.”

“They are true,” she insisted. “Thomas, you belong with us. You aren’t one of them. Don’t you want to return to our world?”

Janet asked herself if Tam-Lin – _Thomas_ – missed his relatives. The nurse had told her that the last of the line of Roxburgh had died even before Janet was born, and she asked herself if the Faerie Queen had told him that. 

Tam-Lin made a step aside. “My lady, the Faerie Queen, told me that she had saved me from the mortal world, when they had abandoned me.”

“They _hadn’t_ abandoned you,” she insisted. Janet believed her nurse: the bells had long rung for the loss of the last heir of Roxburgh. 

“I believe you: since the very moment of our encounter, I’ve started to remember things that I’d forgotten a long time ago. I know now that they are true, and not mere dreams. And I will try everything to return to you, Janet. Only–” he hesitated a little, “ I must warn you. The Faerie Land is beautiful and full of joy, with no sorrow and no pain, but everything comes with a price. Once every seven years, the Faerie Queen pays a tithe to Hell.” He shook his head. “The Queen is getting more and more impatient with me: she said that I’m ungrateful to her, that I cannot wholly appreciate the life and the gifts that she gave me when she brought me to the Faerie Land. I fear that I will be the chosen victim this year: with my blood, the Faerie Queen will pay the tithe.”

Janet let out a scream of horror. 

Tam-Lin gave her a sad smile: “If I escape the tithe, I swear to you that I will live with you and raise your child as a true human father. But the power of the Faerie Queen is too great for me to have any hope of defying her. You could help me, but even so, the risk is too high.”

Janet clenched her fists. She wasn’t a warrior queen or an enchantress, but she wouldn’t give up without fighting. “Just tell me what I should do, Thomas.”

“Well,” Tam-Lin began, “listen to me carefully. Because if we fail, we aren’t going to have another chance…”

*  
Janet had told herself that she wouldn’t cry, but she failed. Once Tam-Lin left her, she could only sit on a fallen trunk and began to sob. The father of her child wanted to help her to raise the babe, but what could she do against the enormous power of the Faerie Queen? Tam-Lin – _Thomas_ – had given her the instructions that would break the enchantments that the Faerie Queen had put on him, but even so, they had little hope of succeeding. 

But when she had dried her eyes, and taken the road to return home, she heard the sound of hooves once again. 

For a moment, she wondered if Tam-Lin hadn’t returned to her. But when the sounds of the hooves grew closer and closer, she realized that there were two horses, and when the two knights drew near her, they were very different from Tam-Lin.

Janet remembered when her nurse had told her the poem of Thomas the Rhymer, who had been invited by the Faerie Queen in her lands. Thomas the Rhymer, her nurse had said, had found himself at a crossroads of three roads: one that led to the Faerie Lands, one to Heaven, and one to Hell. 

After all, everyone knew that in Carterhaugh there was a road that ran to the Faerie Lands. It wouldn’t be so strange if Janet had accidentally found the other two roads, too. 

One of the two knights wore armour of an almost blinding white, with the gold wings of a hawk decorating his high helm. No real knight would wear such armour, or at least, no real knight would wear it for a true battle instead of a parade, thought Janet, who was used to the simple and practical chain-mail of her brothers. But of course, for a knight that came straight from Heaven, practicality didn’t matter. 

The other wore black armour, a black so deep it almost captured the light, with silver decorations along the shoulders and the armbands, his helm shaped like the head of a cruel dragon. The knight seemed to come straight out of the horror stories Janet’s brothers used to tell her when she was little. 

Janet wondered if they had come for her. _Oh, that will be a hard choice,_ she thought. Janet doubted that having sex with a Fey was something that a good Christian should do, but at the same time, she doubted that she had done something so terrible as to deserve Hell. 

The white knight removed his helm, and, of course, beneath it appeared a young man whose blue eyes and fair hair reminded Janet of the pictures of angels she had seen in her castle’s chapel. For a moment, a ray of pure light was captured by his perfect blonde hair. 

“Excuse me, my lady,” the angel asked. “Do you know the road for the nearest castle, or city?” 

Janet blinked. Usually angels didn’t ask for directions... or at least, she did not think they did. She had to admit that she paid little attention to her father’s priest’s lessons of catechism.

“My father’s castle is just out of this wood,” she replied to him. “But excuse me, sir… aren’t you an angel?”

From under his thick helm, the black knight started to laugh. Janet regarded him in confusion. 

The angelic youth gave her an embarrassed smile: “I’m sorry, my lady, but I’m not an angel… not wholly, at least. My name is Sir Galahad. Maybe you have heard of me?” 

Janet looked at him in surprise. Even in the far lands of Scotland they had heard of the Round Table and its valiant knights, despite the fact that neither her father nor his people were particularly friendly with the Englishmen, or the Frenchmen that lived south of the Hadrian Wall. 

“You’re Sir Galahad?” she asked. “May I ask you what are you doing in these lands, so far from Camelot?”

“We’re going to visit my mother.” It was the other knight who replied this time, removing his helm. The face of a pale young man, with some freckles on his cheeks and nose despite the dark hair, and eyes of a blue so pale it almost made his irises disappear, appeared: decisively a human face, despite the paleness. “I’m Sir Mordred. I guess you know me, too.” 

“Aye.” Of course she knew him: you couldn’t live near the realm of the Queen of Air and Darkness without knowing the names of her sons. “I’m Lady Janet of Carterhaugh, sir. I will gladly bring you to my lord father’s castle… but please, tell me: on your road, have you seen a knight clad in grey?”

The two knights of the Round Table stared at each other for a moment, then Mordred shrugged. “I’m sorry, my lady. We saw no such knight on our road.” 

Janet nodded, disappointed but not surprised. Galahad looked at her, uncertain, then said, “We could help you, my lady? It’s not safe for a lady like you to wander alone… especially not in a forest like that.” He took a deep breath. “You will excuse my foolishness if I tell you that this place looks… haunted.” 

Janet shrugged. “Aye, sir, it’s haunted. In this forest there’s a road that leads to the realm of the Faerie Queen. Sometimes the Fairy Folk cross the border and come into our world.” She tried to say those words as casually as possible. After all, she had conceived only two months ago; she didn’t look pregnant yet.

Sir Galahad crossed himself. “Dear Lord,” he shivered. “A road that leads straight to Hell, and that permits infernal creatures to enter our world. Lady Janet, permit us to escort you safe and sound to your home.”

“Galahad, _for fuck’s sake._ ” Mordred tried to sound patient, but Janet could sense that he was on the point of snapping. “For the thousandth time, the Fairy Folk _aren’t_ hellish creatures. There’s a reason why they are called the Old Ones: because they were here long before your Christianity. Otherwise, they would have been called the Not-Quite-So-Old-As-The-Church Ones.” 

“Never said that they were less old than Christ,” answered Galahad. “Satan himself is older than Christ. I said that they are fallen angels. A nun of the convent where I was raised said that the Fairy Folk are all angels that aligned with neither God nor Satan. God at the end decided to ban them from Heaven, and to send them on the Earth, where they lived hidden in the hills and in the mountains.” 

Mordred appeared decisively on the point of screaming: “You said a moment ago that the Old Ones are hellish creatures, and now you’re saying that they are neutral angels who never followed Satan?”

“I heard confused accounts.” Galahad shrugged, and then met Mordred’s eyes. “There’s no need to be so rude, anyway. After all, it’s common knowledge that the Fey fear the sound of holy bells, and the name of God.”

“The Old Ones fear the sound of holy bells because they are _deafening_. They have sensitive ears, like cats. Are you telling me now that cats are hellish creatures, too?”

“Actually, a priest once told me that…”

“ _Don’t._ ” Mordred took a deep breath. “Galahad, _please_ , for all the love I bear you, don’t you dare say something against cats. Cats are the best animals in the world, and _I don’t want to hear otherwise._ ” 

The bickering continued, all the way back to Carterhaugh, but Janet, carefully placed on the back of Galahad’s white horse, paid it little attention. You didn’t grow up in Medieval Scotland, so near to a haunted forest, without learning a little of the deeds of war, and if she was going to fight against the Faerie Queen, she thought, two knights of the Round Table surely would turn out useful. 

*

The Laird of Carterhaugh was decidedly pleased to have Sir Gawain’s younger brother in his house, and decidedly less pleased to have an Englishman with a French father, too, but nobody could say that Mordred and Galahad were badly treated during their brief sojourn at Carterhaugh’s castle. 

Sir Mordred told him what he had told Janet in the forest: that he and Galahad were going to visit his mother, Queen Morgause, in her realm in the deep north. It was a strange thing, to be sure, since it was uncommon for the knights of King Arthur to come to the deep north, especially such a strange pair as the bastard son of Queen Morgause and the bastard son of Sir Lancelot. But both Janet and her father were the last people who could raise comments about the matter. 

And it didn’t take long to occur to Janet to ask her father to let her accompany them on their journey to the Orkney Islands. Everybody knew that Queen Morgause practiced dark magic: if there was someone who could give her more information about the Faerie Queen, and possibly information that could help Janet defeat her, that someone was the Queen of Air and Darkness. 

Of course, her father didn’t take the request very well at first. Janet hadn’t expected that he would: even if she had always been her father’s favorite child, she doubted that he would be so permissive with her after the whole debacle with Tam-Lin.

“If you fear that I will lose what remains of my reputation wandering alone across Scotland with two men, father dear,” Janet told him, putting her hands on her hips, “Sir Galahad is famed for his vow of chastity, and Sir Mordred… well, I don’t know if you’ve looked at him, but I’ve several doubts about whether he’s interested in women at all–”

“Enough.” The Laird of Carterhaugh waved his hands nervously, as if he feared that Janet’s mere words could provoke the ire of the Queen of Air and Darkness, for what they suggested about her youngest son. “You’re so… stubborn, Janet. You are right about your two knights, fine, but… it’s still a long, dangerous journey, and you have decided to keep your child.” He stopped himself, clearly uncomfortable. 

“Speaking of that,” Janet took a deep breath, “you could always say that you have sent me to a nunnery, and avoid the embarrassment of having me wandering about your court, attracting the rumours and the curiosity of the small-folk and of the lords. On the other side, I ought to be easily protected among two knights of the Round Table.”

In the end, Janet prevailed upon the Laird of Carterhaugh to accede to her request, and let her go with Sir Mordred and Sir Galahad to the far Orkneys, to the great concern of Janet’s nurse. She provided Janet with so great a number of woolen clothes that Janet suspected a whole flock had been sheared for them. 

But despite all her worries, the journey was, strangely, quite calm. There was truly nothing that bothered them, except one bunch of outlaws that tried to assault them as they were crossing a pine forest. Sir Mordred swore and unsheathed his sword, but he didn’t even need to use it; Sir Galahad simply looked at them and spoke gently about how violence was terrible and assaulting people in the forest sinful, upon which they immediately fell on their knees and begged for forgiveness, saying that they would all leave banditry, distribute their spoils to the poor, and become friars. Galahad forgave them all, a ray of golden light shining on his head despite the cloudy sky, and a flock of doves of the purest white appearing beside him, singing with sweet voices. 

“I’m sorry,” said Sir Galahad to Mordred and Janet, who was staring at him in astonishment. “Such things happen to me all the time.”

Indeed, there was something _strange_ about Galahad. Janet wasn’t much surprised by this: she had heard the rumours about him, of his supernatural strength and the purity of his heart. Thus it happened that, unlike Mordred, whose iron armour displayed a lot of dents, Galahad’s armour was never spotted either by dent or by anything so earthly as mud, and his white mantle was never torn by brambles, and his hair always shone golden under the sunlight, in spite of the everlasting bad weather of Scotland. 

Next to him, both Mordred and Janet seemed disappointingly mundane, even vulgar. Especially Janet, who could no longer hide her pregnancy as the months passed. 

Eventually, she had no choice but to tell them what had happened with Tam-Lin in the woods of Carterhaugh. She expected Sir Galahad to scold her, since he was raised in a nunnery and was a holy virgin, but Galahad only shook his head and watched Mordred with a strange look in his eyes. 

“Well, I guess it could happen,” he said in the end. “At least, it’s not like your nurse had drugged your boy, making him mistake you for his lover and have a night of passion with you that would be incredibly embarrassing for your child to hear about.”

Janet watched him in disdain: “I have no idea it was such a hard argument for you, sir.”

Galahad only shook his head with a strange look of shame and embarrassment in his eyes, and Mordred said instead: “And he wasn’t your half-brother… or at least I hope not.” 

Janet couldn’t hide her disgust at that: “I don’t think that Thomas and I share any blood-bond, but _many thanks to you for the concern, sir_.”

“It was a mistake on my mother’s part,” Mordred hurriedly added. “She didn’t know that King Arthur was her half-brother, of course. She is guiltless for that. Before you get strange ideas about my mother, Lady Janet… the peasants say strange things about her.”

She let out a long, deep breath. She had almost forgotten about the notorious conception of Mordred. Of course, this didn’t help the reputation of the Queen of Air and Darkness, but Janet had her doubts that her fame as a sorceress was due only to the rumours of the peasants… not when Mordred himself had admitted that his mother had dealings with the Faerie Queen. 

And so, would such a woman decide to help Janet? Or would she instead decided that the life of a young man mattered nothing, set against her business with the Faerie Queen? 

Well, thought Janet, she would soon find out. They were only a week away from the Orkney Islands. 

*

Janet had been born and grown up her whole life in Scotland, but even she could not help but be touched by their first view of the Orkney Islands. She could not help but think of the Islands as the last border of the human world, before the unknown. 

Galahad, like the man of the South that he was, complained instead that the islands were too muddy, too cloudy, and too rainy. Strangely enough, the rain was one of the few things that his supernatural powers didn’t protect him from, and when the ferry-boat left them on the cold shores of the largest of the Islands, he announced that this was surely the most similar place to an earthly Hell that he had ever seen. 

Mordred’s, though, was odder. If he seemed confident and chatty with Janet and Galahad, always providing them with anecdotes about his childhood or his siblings, or conversing with the peasants that they met along their way, playing the part of the young lord returning home after long adventures in the wide world, he closed himself in a strange silence when they finally arrived at the stoney castle, set atop the greatest hill of the island, where his mother lived. 

When they arrived, they found that they were not alone in seeking shelter at the castle: there was also a young knight, his banner and caparison bearing an emblem Janet had never seen. 

“This is indeed a surprise,” the knight removed his helm, revealing a youth the same age as Mordred, with a strong jawline and a manly kind of beauty. He smiled at them in a dismissive manner. “Sir Mordred accompanied by Sir Galahad! What are you doing in those lands so far of our beloved Camelot?”

“I could ask the same thing to you, Sir Lamorak.” Mordred’s voice was so cold that Janet was sure that it could easily freeze Hell. “I hope you haven’t forgotten that this is my homeland… I’m definitely not the stranger here.”

Janet looked at Mordred. Throughout their journey, Mordred had seemed to her a sarcastic, sometimes even annoying, but rather decent kind of fellow; now there was something in him, a cold look of threat in his pale eyes, that made Janet shiver for a moment. It was like discovering that the old cat that you used to pet and feed with milk had turned into a panther. 

Mordred had his right hand on the hilt of the sword, and for a moment, Janet feared the worst. But he did nothing but smile a cold, predatory smile. 

Sir Galahad mercifully pushed his horse ahead, smiling at the knight that Mordred had called Sir Lamorak: “What a coincidence, my lord! I’m so happy to meet you here, brother of my old friend Perceval! Do you have news of him? I heard he had married Lady Blanchefleur and has become a king.”

He gave the knight such a pristine smile that, despite the thick layer of clouds, a ray of sunshine struggled through to shine directly on his blond head. Sir Lamorak immediately stopped casting contemptuous glances at Mordred, and started to talk with Galahad about people Janet knew nothing about while the little company passed across the drawbridge.

*  
Morgause didn’t appear to welcome them: instead it was an old, hunchbacked woman, who presented herself as Mordred’s nurse, who showed them their chambers. The old woman told them that Queen Morgause was waiting for them in her chambers in the highest tower of the castle, and then left them alone. Janet could do nothing but rejoice at the idea that she could take a long, hot bath alone, a thing that she had wished to do for weeks. 

But time mattered, after all, and Janet couldn’t wait too long before seeing Queen Morgause. Once they were all bathed and finely dressed, and had managed to get some rest, she and the two knights would seek out the queen. 

She prepared herself with care: she was a lady, after all, and didn’t want to look too provincial in front of the Queen of Air and Darkness. She managed to fit herself into the nicest dress she had brought with her, of fine blue cotton, and carefully braided her long hair with golden ribbons. 

Once they came to the long, steep staircase that lead to the private apartment of Queen Morgause, Galahad, all shining in his white and golden tunic, courteously offered to carry her up the staircase: “My lady, permit me that. I think that this staircase will be difficult for someone in your condition.”

At first, Janet refused – being pregnant was not like being ill, she insisted – but she had to agree with him after some steps: the child was growing fast within her, and her womb had become too heavy to permit her to climb easily. 

It was thus that they made their ascent to the private apartment of Queen Morgause, with Mordred guiding the small company. 

Queen Morgause received her guests in a large chamber made of stone, with a tall ebony throne at one side and a large chimney at the other, hearth already lit with a fire, despite it being still the end of summer. The only light in the chamber came from the hearth and the two braziers standing in the middle of the room. Janet carefully fanned herself. The air within the chamber was almost suffocating, heavy with spices and herbs that burned in the braziers. She had no doubt that the effect was intentional. 

And so it was that Janet met the Queen of Air and Darkness, illuminated by the fire, seated on her ebony throne, a black cat asleep in her lap. 

Queen Morgause, the eldest daughter of Igraine and Gorlois of Cornwall, was a woman of striking beauty, with hair red like the fire that burned in the braziers, and eyes the blue of a summer sky. Janet couldn’t guess her age, for her candid face showed no wrinkles and no signs of time. With some surprise, she realized that she had imagined that the Faerie Queen looked like that, every time she had thought about the powerful godmother of Tam-Lin. 

Queen Morgause wore a magnificent black robe over a dress made of the finest velvet, green as the leaves of the forest in summer and embroidered with gold; a copper circlet crossed her high brow. She looked at her son first, and then at the companions he brought with him, barely moving her head with feline grace. 

“Oh, look who has returned home after all these years,” she said in the end, her voice sweet like honey, softly caressing the ears of her cat. 

“Mother, please.” Mordred was trying to sound cool, but Janet could easily sense the nervousness in his voice. “It’s only _one year_. And I wrote you every time I could,” he coughed a little. 

“Indeed.” Morgause continued to caress her cat, her blue eyes still fixed on her son. “But I sincerely doubt this is only a visit of courtesy… or you wouldn’t have brought your companions, would you?”

“Speaking of that,” Mordred took a step aside, “these are my friends, Mother. Lady Janet of Carterhaugh…”

“Enchanted to meet you.” The Queen fixed her gaze on Janet, scrutinizing her from head to foot. Janet couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed. She wondered what Morgause would think of her, despite all her efforts to look like a high lady, the true heir of Carterhaugh. “I’ve heard of your father, of course.” 

Janet made a little curtsey. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lady,” she said, in a voice that she hoped sound educated and controlled at the same time. 

Morgause nodded a little, before fixing her gaze on Galahad. “And Sir Galahad. You must know him too, of course,” Mordred continued.

“Aye.” Morgause’s voice was so cold that Janet thought that it could not only freeze Hell but keep it frozen until Judgement Day. “The bastard son of Lancelot. I’ve heard about him.”

If Galahad noticed the jab, he seemed to not care about it. He instead threw himself at the Queen’s feet. “My lady,” he said, in that melodious voice of his, and for a moment, despite the room lacking any kind of windows, a ray of pure light shone on his hair. “I’ve awaited this moment for such a long time. You cannot imagine how much my heart is full of joy right now.”

Mordred looked like he had eaten a whole sour lemon. Janet wanted desperately to say something, but feared that an intervention from her would make things even more embarrassing for him. 

“I was so desperate,” Galahad continued, totally unaware of Mordred’s mortified reaction or Morgause’s icy gaze. “My life had become worthless, after I failed in my mission to find the Holy Grail. But I soon realized that I was called to another mission, a mission not less worthwhile than the Quest for the Grail. It all appeared so clear to me, when I saw your son: only my love for him could save Camelot and spare him from such a horrible doom as killing his own father, as the prophecy of Merlin had said. And so, I’m here for love of him, and he will never have a companion more devoted or more faithful than me. I need nothing more to be fully happy, besides your blessing, my lady.” 

A heavy silence fell in the room. Janet found herself inspecting the patterns of the braziers, carefully avoiding both the embarrassed gaze of Mordred, and the assassin-like one of his mother. Meanwhile, Galahad had not dropped his angelic smile. 

Morgause took a deep breath, tapping her long fingernails on the ebony armrest: “Well, that at least explains why you’ve never showed any interest towards the servant-maids, unlike your brothers,” she said to Mordred, purposely not looking at Galahad. “But why weren’t you the one to tell me that?”

“I’ve tried,” Mordred protested. “But… well, it’s complicated, Mother. I’m still figuring how the hell this had happened!”

“Milady, I perfectly know it’s a difficult situation to handle. I too have found myself in trouble.” Galahad moved a step ahead, so fast that Morgause couldn’t pretend to have missed him. “But in the end, are you not happy that I’ve spared your son from such the horrible destiny prophesied for him? Is that not what truly matters, after all?”

“Oh yes, such a horrible doom,” Morgause didn’t even try to _not_ sound sarcastic, this time. “Mordred would never kill the father who deliberately tried to kill him when he was still a toddler.”

“He said he’s sorry for what had happened,” Mordred muttered. “He was young and stupid, and Merlin had always been truly manipulative, when he wanted to. He said that he regretted it a lot.” 

Morgause’s eyes tightened: “Aye, of course. So, you’re telling me that, after I’ve waited for twenty-four years for my revenge against the House of Pendragon, after all I’ve endured to see the blood of my blood bring ruin and misery over the son of Uther Pendragon, after all that miserable pig did to my mother – _your grandmother_ – after all of this, I must simply accept it all and let you consort with this… this sanctimonious…” she took another deep breath. 

“ _Yes!_ ” Mordred’s tone had changed. If before it had been embarrassed and almost submissive, now it resonated with a new, fierce energy. “I’m sorry, Mother, but… Uther Pendragon has been _dead_ ever since I was even born. He was a piece of shit, for sure, and I’m sorry for Granny Igraine, but… he’s dead. Even King Arthur told me that his father was a terrible person and that he passed half of his life in regret for what Uther had done. Let the asshole rot in the deepest Hell, and let me get on with my life.” He stood in the middle of the room, now holding the Queen of Air and Darkness’s gaze. “For fuck’s sake, Mother, have you ever asked _me_ what I want to do with my life? When I was little, I wanted to become an actor, but of course, _no_ , I had to become the gruesome Witch-Knight that brought ruin and horror upon Camelot because _you_ decided so.”

Morgause rolled her eyes: “Oh, of course now _I’m_ the bad one. Of course. Let me say one thing to you…” but her words were interrupted by a determined knocking at the big oak door. “ _And what in Hell is going on now_?”

The door opened to show an embarrassed Sir Lamorak, wearing his finest clothes and holding a bundle of red roses in his hands. “I’m sorry, my lady,” he muttered, his gaze moving from the Queen, to Mordred, to Galahad, and to Janet, who was still pretending deep interest in the brazier’s patterns. “I didn’t realize you were… ah… occupied.”

“See?” Mordred exploded into spiteful laughter. “You’re the last person who can comment on who I decide to consort with, Mother, not when you’re with this… this…”

“ _Don’t even dare,_ ” Morgause spat out, pointing a long, delicate finger towards her son, but Janet decided that she’d had enough of all their family drama, especially as she had already endured enough family drama from her own household – and all this before her child was even born. 

“This is all very interesting,” she said in a loud voice, and everyone turned to look at her in surprise, like they had all forgotten she was there, too. “But while we are here chatting, the father of my child is risking his life.”

“An interesting piece of news, indeed,” Morgause coughed a little, letting her voice settle from its former pure rage to a cool, reserved tone. “But what have I to do with that?”

“Because it’s the Faerie Queen that keeps him,” Janet said. “You know her. You, my Queen, are the only person who can help me right now.” She explained what Tam-Lin had told her, except for the instructions he had given her for how to break the spell that the Faerie Queen had put on him. Janet kept those to herself, since she had no idea how Morgause would react; if she decided that she didn’t dare risk the rage of the Faerie Queen, Janet was loath to give her information that could betray her or Tam-Lin. 

“A Tithe in blood paid to Hell?” Morgause beat her perfect fingernails on the armrest of her throne. “Are you sure of that? The Fairy Folk don’t believe in such fancy concepts like Hell. All they do with the missionaries that try to convert them to Christianity is invite them to their Midsummer orgies.”

Janet ignored both Galahad’s indignant shriek and Mordred’s exulting “ _Ah! I knew it!_ ” and replied: “It’s what he told me. What are you saying?” A horrible suspicion rose in her mind. “Do you think he could have lied to me? But... but he couldn’t do that. _Why_ should he have lied to me?”

“Oh, let me guess.” Morgause waved her hand. “Why should he lie to a person who wants to take him away from a realm of endless joy, where an eternal summer rules, where he can’t be touched by illness and will remain forever young and beautiful, and where he will have all the sex he wants with unearthly beautiful Fey maidens without a dull priest telling him that’s a sinful thing to do?”

Janet felt her heart sink. She never had any doubts about Tam-Lin’s sincerity; she had always believed that he missed his mortal family, and that, if he didn’t love her as she did him, he at least _cared_ for her, a feeling that could easily turn into love with the passing of time: so it had happened with her parents’ marriage. 

She had put all her hopes in him. If he had lied to her, what would become of her? In the best case, she would have to run away and hide herself and the child in a nunnery. In the worst case, well… she had heard of how the Faerie Queen took her revenge against those who angered her. It was the material of horror tales in all the Scotland. 

And Janet didn’t even want to think about that hint to the _unearthly beautiful Fey maidens_. 

No, she told herself, she had to be stronger than that. Morgause could easily be an ally of the Faerie Queen: maybe her purpose had been putting doubt in Janet’s heart. 

So she forced herself to make her voice calm and cold when she answered Morgause: “So, you know the Faerie Queen well enough to say that for certain.”

Morgause shrugged: “ _Know_ is an exaggeration. The Queen of Elfhame did me some favours, nothing more, nothing less. But right now, I owe her nothing at all.”

Janet felt a spark of hope rising in her chest. Perhaps there was an opportunity... she made her move, hoping that she was doing the right thing. 

“So, I’ve clearly made a mistake.” Janet took a deep breath. “I was searching for someone whose power equals that of the Faerie Queen. But I should have known. Everyone knows that among the Cornwall Sisters, Morgane Le Fay is the one that has the real power,” she said, ignoring Mordred, who was waving his hands at her to get her to stop. 

Morgause narrowed her blue eyes and coughed a little. “You’re implying that I’m less powerful than my sister?”

“Not me,” said Janet, forcing herself to face the icy-blue gaze of the Queen of Air and Darkness. It was almost as difficult as looking straight at the sun. “Everyone says it, from what I’ve heard.” 

Morgause didn’t reply. She only rose from her throne, making the cat yowl and jump, and moved towards one of the braziers. Janet heard her mumbling some unintelligible words as she threw something that she had taken from the pockets of her long dress into the fire. 

A great smoke arose from the brazier, filling the whole chamber. Janet started to cough, for the smell of incense and spices was too hard to bear, but when she got used to it, she could grasp a sparkle of silver among the mist. When the smoke ceased, there was a knight wearing silver armour, clad in grey, in the middle of the room. 

Janet ignored Sir Lamorak’s scream, Mordred swearing like a fishwife, and Galahad murmuring, “ _Vade retro, Satana!_ ” She had to stop herself from screaming and running towards him, for she knew him too well: it was Tam-Lin. 

“In the name of Arawn,” muttered the silver knight, removing his helm. The silver hair and supernaturally beautiful face of Tam-Lin appeared, and he scanned the whole room in shock. “Where I am? I was attending the meeting of my Queen with King Auberon, and now I’m… _Janet_?”

His silver gaze moved from her to Morgause, and immediately horror filled his eyes. 

“Queen Morgause,” Tam-Lin said in a cold tone. “I don’t know what I’m doing here, but if you have dared to hurt her, I swear that you will know what a knight of Faerie is capable of…”

Morgause rolled her eyes: “Oh, so melodramatic. I have done nothing to her. She has come here of her own free will, together with this ungrateful son of mine and his holy fool.”

“Mother, _please_ ,” Mordred protested, but Morgause paid him no attention. For his part, Galahad had taken a rosary from his pocket and was starting to recite a long list of prayers. 

“See that?” said Morgause to Janet. “I’m able to open the doors between our world and Faerie, any time I want. Don’t even dare to imply again that I’m less powerful than my sister!”

“This is impressive, my lady,” Janet said quickly. “Thomas, she’s telling the truth. I’m here of my free will. I hoped to…” she trailed off, sure that Tam-Lin would understand. 

“Thomas?” Mordred watched Tam-Lin. “By Jove, I know that the Fey have strange names, but I never heard of a Fey called… _Thomas_.”

“It’s my real name,” Tam-Lin replied. “I was born Thomas Lynn of Roxburgh. But the Fey can’t pronounce human names correctly, so they called me Tam-Lin because it’s easier for them to say.”

“This is so stupid,” commented Mordred.

“A changeling.” Queen Morgause crossed her arms. “The Queen of Elfhame used to kidnap the most beautiful mortal children she found and keep them in her court. I tried to convince her to take Gaheris, too, but she refused to do that.” She shook her head in disgust. “Not even the Fey wanted him, apparently.”

“ _Mother_!” Mordred sounded horrified. “You’ve probably left Gaheris scarred for life for this.”

“It’s not my fault,” replied Morgause. “He would have been much happier in Faerie, and I with him. Ah!”

Before Mordred could reply, Galahad spoke: “So, sir, you’re a baptized man: you can’t just remain there, in a land where the Fey worship Satan, without hearing the Word of Christ. You must come with us, and marry this gallant maiden, who has faced so many troubles for your sake.”

Tam-Lin hesitated, and then turned towards Janet: “That’s the problem. If it were up to me, I would marry Janet this precise moment. But I can’t do that, since I fear that my Queen would sacrifice me to Satan, to pay the blood tithe.”

“That’s horseshit.” Mordred spoke before Janet could answer. “My brother’s Quest with the Green Knight taught me some things about the Fey, and I know well that the Fairy Folk neither worship the Christian God nor believe in such fanciful concepts like Hell. You yourself invoked the name of Arawn. What I believe, sir, is that you only want to run away from your responsibilities, like my father did once.”

Janet didn’t meet Mordred’s eyes, looking instead into the grey gaze of Tam-Lin. It was impossible to understand what thoughts were crossing his mind; his face was unreadable. 

“Fine,” Tam-Lin said, in the end. “I admit that I’ve lied about that part. The tithe won’t be paid to Hell, of course, but it’s necessary to have a tithe all the same. It’s the eternal, natural cycle of life: the seed must die to be reborn again, in spring. The Faerie Queen is losing her sympathy towards me, and I fear that she wants to shed my blood to the very last drop, so that it will regenerate Elfland. It’s much a more… symbolic thing, I suppose. I have lied about the destination of the tithe, but I’ve not lied about the sacrifice… or about my love for Janet.”

Janet took a deep breath. She was uncertain if she wanted to slap Tam-Lin, or embrace him. _A slap is surely deserved,_ she couldn’t help but think. 

“Why the Hell have you lied to me?” she asked.

“Because he’s a trickster.” It was Morgause who replied, this time. “It’s in his nature, no matter if you like it or no. There will always be a part of him that will take joy in lies and deceit, and you can’t change that. Even if you manage to break the spell that the Faerie Queen has put on him, he will always be divided between his two natures, half-Fey and half-human.”

Janet looked at Tam-Lin again, staring at his impossibly beautiful face. Once again, his expression was unreadable, and Janet realized how eerie and unearthly he looked in that moment, the silver-grey eyes hiding a darkness that she had failed to see in their first encounter. She took a deep breath: that had been her choice, after all. She had chosen the supernatural over the ordinary, and now she would take the consequences of how her life had turned out, no matter that she had gotten more than she bargained for out of her choice. It was too late to renounce it. 

“So,” she said to Morgause, “there’s a way to break the spell.”

“Aye,” the Queen closed her eyes, a gesture that made her look like the cat she was caressing. “But I won’t tell you that. I don’t doubt that your friend here had already told you some things about the matter, and if this is going to be a contest with the Faerie Queen over who will keep young Thomas, well, I refuse to choose a side. It’s between you and her. I won’t tell the Faerie Queen about our conversation, and that’s all. I’ve some sympathy for your family, but the Faerie Queen is a greater force. But never say never. It may also be that the powerful Queen of Elfhame is going to lose before the power of _true love at first sight_ … ah, that would be funny, for sure.” 

“You don’t believe in true love, my lady?” asked Sir Lamorak, who had been quiet for the whole conversation, too shocked to speak. 

“No,” Morgause replied, dryly. “But I believe in friendships that come with… additional advantages, if you know what I mean.”

“ _It’s going to work,_ ” replied Tam-Lin. “I know the Queen well enough to know how her spells work. If Janet follows my instructions, she will easily succeed.”

“Good for you, my lad.” Morgause shrugged. “Still, I admit I’m a little confused about a part of your argument. You don’t want to be sacrificed, for sure, but there’s still the possibility that the Queen doesn’t want to harm you. After all, you’ve been her favorite for years and years. Why leave a place where there’s no death and no mortal illness? Is it only because of _true love_ , as you said?”

“I _love_ Janet,” Tam-Lin said, firmly. “I don’t want to leave her alone. That’s the major part. And for the rest of your question,” he hesitated a little, “I’ve lived for _so many years_. All the people I loved once are dead now. Meeting Janet helped me remember many things that I’d forgotten long ago, since I was but a child when I was abducted. I’m _so tired_. I’m tired of a land where nothing changes, where I have come to forget the people I once loved. I’m tired of seeing the mortal world changing through the years, while I remain the same. Immortality can be a burden.” 

And this time, nobody dared to reply to him. 

*

And so, they had no other choice but to leave the Orkneys. Morgause sent Tam-Lin back to the Faerie land, before the Queen of Elfhame could notice his absence – _But if she is busy with King Auberon, I’ve no doubt that it will take some time for her to realize the matter,_ Morgause had said. Tam-Lin had made his farewell to Janet with a long, sweet kiss, and then he had vanished, having courteously refused Galahad’s proposal that he confess himself, since, the Grail Knight had said, he surely needed to do that after all the time he had passed in Faerie, not to mention all the girls he had seduced. 

To the trio, there remained nothing to do but return home. Janet decided to take a carriage for the return journey, for her pregnancy had gotten too heavy to let her ride easily. 

It was a quiet journey, despite Mordred nursing a grudge the whole time, since his mother had taken her farewell saying that she would not bless his union with Galahad for the moment, because ‘ _I will think about it._ ’ But Janet couldn’t truly blame him for that, and silently thanked Our Lord for having given her two parents that were nothing like Morgause and King Arthur. 

They arrived in Carterhaugh two weeks before All Hallows’ Even, or Samhain, as Mordred called it: the very day the Faerie Queen had designated for her tithe, the day where the confines between the mortal world and Elfhame would fade away, letting the Fey wander the paths of the Earth. 

When All Hallows’ Even came, Janet dressed as she had that day of Beltane when she had met Tam-Lin for the first time: with her finest dress of green velvet, and with golden ribbons in her tresses. 

_It’s all symbolism, after all,_ she thought. Her tutor had once told her a Latin tale where a girl went to her marriage dressed like she was at her own funeral, for she was meant to marry a monster able to scare even the gods. Janet couldn’t suppress a shiver at that thought, but she told herself that there would be no funeral, either for her or for Tam-Lin. 

She went to the crossroad that Tam-Lin had described to her, where the procession of the Fairy Folk would pass once they came out of their lands, to carry out their strange rites under the moon.

She was alone, covered with a green woolen mantle that her nurse had given her. Sir Mordred and Sir Galahad had agreed to wait in the woods, in case Tam-Lin’s instructions failed and they had to use iron and salt against the Fairy Folk instead. 

Janet shivered a little, for the night was cold. She could hear the distant hooting of an owl. 

And then, suddenly, the sound of silver bells, and with them, hooves. 

The first Fey to come out of the woods was a lady mounted on a horse as black as a starless night. She had an unearthly beauty, though her skin was as green as spring leaves, and her long dress, made of thousands and thousands of flowers, left a vague scent of spring in the cold October night. 

The second Fey was a knight mounted on a brown horse, his armour entirely made of thorns, with a great pair of horns adorning his high helm. Janet was happy that the procession couldn’t see her, because even if the knight had his visor lowered, the glimpse she caught of his eldritch yellow eyes made her shiver a little. 

And then, finally, mounted on a horse as pale as milk, a knight clad in silver and grey, a knight that she could recognize anywhere. Seeing him, Janet could wait no longer. She ran toward him as fast as she could and grabbed him by his long grey mantle, exerting as much effort as she could to pull him tumbling from the horse. 

The horse reared up and neighed. Immediately, the procession stopped, but Janet ignored them. Tam-Lin’s instructions had been clear. She quickly removed his helm and looked straight into those unearthly, beautiful grey eyes, hoping they would lend her the necessary strength. 

Tam-Lin had only enough time to give her a smile – a beautiful, encouraging smile – before Janet felt the cold metal of his armour grow warm under her hands, and suddenly her arms held not Tam-Lin, Thomas of Roxburgh, but an enormous snake, with scales as black as night and cruel fangs dripping poison. 

She almost screamed, but no, she must remain calm. She couldn’t fail. Not now, not after what she had endured. The snake hissed, its fangs coming dangerously near her face, but that was only an illusion, it had to be, for she was only holding Tam-Lin. She softly started to hum a melody that her nurse had sung to her when she was little, as she would carry her to bed. It comforted her, a bit, and if Tam-Lin could hear her it might anchor him too. 

Once again, he changed under her hands, and now the scales turned into fur, and Janet found herself holding a bear, all grey fur and atrocious long fangs, roaring its fury. 

Janet continued to softly hum her melody, careful to never let Tam-Lin out of her hands. The steaming breath of the beast assaulted her, filthy with the stink of rotten flesh. She did her best to ignore it. Only an illusion, she reminded herself; underneath the bear-guise it was Tam-Lin she held.

And then, the very last change. Janet smelled the scent of burned flesh, followed by a great pain, and with horror she realized that Tam-Lin had turned into a burning stick, and _she was holding it_. 

“This is not real,” she said, aloud this time, trying to ignore both the pain and the temptation to drop the stick and search for water. 

But when she finally saw her hands turning into burning coals, she began to run, still clutching the stick. She reached the well where all her adventures had begun, and dropped the stick – _Tam-Lin_ – into the water. 

There was a shiver in the forest, the very trees starting to tremble as if shaken by a powerful wind, and Janet realized that the spell was broken. When she looked at her hands, she found them perfectly whole and untouched. 

There was an exclamation, and Tam-Lin – Thomas of Roxburgh – emerged from the well, naked as the day he was born. Janet let out a cry of joy, running towards him and reaching out her hands to help him out. 

He still looked the same, but Janet could sense that there was something changed in him. He was still the most beautiful man she had ever seen, but now his supernatural aura had left him, and his hair no longer shone like silver, but a more human pale blond. 

“What a lovely meeting,” said a voice, a voice that Janet had never heard before in her life, but that sent a long shiver in her spine. It wasn’t a human voice: if the wild forests and the cruel peaks of snowy mountains could talk, they would use such a voice. “My ungrateful protegé had found a little friend.”

Janet turned, putting herself between the Queen and Tam-Lin: “Do not even dare to come near him!”

The Faerie Queen was beautiful, but it was a beauty defying description. She almost seemed to melt into the forest, her hair like veils of fog, her dress the same colour as the autumn woods all around them, her lips red like the roses that still grew up over the well, her eyes like a star-sprinkled night, black and full of eerie lights. She wore a crown of crystal. 

“I come, I come,” she replied, in that same eldritch voice. “Tam-Lin, Tam-Lin, my dear, how canst thou repay me in such way? Had I known what would happen this night, I’d have removed both thine eyes and changed thee fast into a tree. I would never have left thy heart of flesh, but rather left thee with a heart of stone! And as for thee, Janet of Carterhaugh, who dares to challenge me in such way–” but she was interrupted, because a voice came out of the woods, the last voice that Janet expected. 

“Enough!” said Morgause, the Queen of Air and Darkness, standing between two tall birches, tall and majestic in her green mantle, almost like the Faerie Queen herself. 

Janet looked at her in disbelief. _Oh, that’s unexpected,_ she thought.

She could see now that there was another woman with Morgause, too, a woman shorter than Morgause, with hair and eyes black like those of a raven, clad in a long black mantle, who wore a circlet of gold on her head. The woman smiled at Janet. 

“ _You?_ ” Janet wasn’t sure if a Fey could ever express shock, but if the Faerie Queen was human, certainly she should have been surprised. “What are you two doing here?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?” said the woman clad in black. “Well, let us make this clear: you can’t curse that girl, or her lover.”

“Art thou trying to give me _orders_ , like some imp at the beck and call of a fair magician?” The trees started to shake with the Faerie Queen’s rage, but the two women didn’t seem to care. “Morgause, Morgane: you might have powers beyond human comprehension, but that doesn’t mean that you can defeat me, the Queen of Elfhame.”

“Maybe not alone, no,” Morgause waved a hand. “But that’s why I have decided to make peace with my sister, after that stupid quarrel that we had some years ago. Together, we’re powerful enough to resist you too. And if that doesn’t work, never forget that we’ve _another_ sister.”

“But _why_?” Janet saw a young bush being dragged away by the wind, such was the power in the voice of the Faerie Queen. “Morgause, I thought thou hadst a heart of stone, like the young Tam-Lin here would have, if I’d taken such precautions against him falling in love with a mortal lass.”

“Perhaps.” Morgause shrugged. “But a heart of stone isn’t something you are born with. And call me foolish, but my mother was raped and forced to marry my father’s killer, the same man who sold me into a loveless marriage when he had the chance. Later, I was so hopelessly stupid as to fall in love with a young warrior who I had no clue was my half-brother, and apparently, _I_ was to blame for having tried to seduce him. So perhaps… if an elfin-knight had appeared to me when I was Janet’s age, I would have fought a thousand times against you, my lady, rather than bend to the will of Uther Pendragon.”

“And so it is for me,” replied Morgane, and then added, “Except for the marriage part. I was too young for a suitable marriage when Uther married our mother, so he send me to a convent instead. And yet, much later, when I had no other wish than to become a nun in the name of Our Lord, Uther Pendragon deprived me of that, too.”

Janet, handling her mantle to Tam-Lin so that he could cover himself, wondered what was more incredible: the idea of Morgause and her sister _coming to her aid_ , or the thought of Morgane Le Fay wanting to be a nun. 

“I know how you feel right now, believe me,” said Morgause. “My sons are all so incredibly fond of their uncle, and my daughters… well, they have taken their own paths, too. I hoped that Mordred would fulfill my wish of bringing ruin and death to the house of Pendragon… but apparently he has decided he wants nothing to do with that. Ah! Can you believe that? Of course, I was furious with him. I too regretted not having used some enchantments that would prevent him falling in love with handsome blonde knights, but well … what happened, happened. I suppose it is the nature of things that our children leave us, sooner or later.” 

“Still better than my Ywain, with his stupid quirk of going around with a lion,” said Morgane. “At least Laudine seems a decent girl, so I needn’t complain of his choices in marriage.” 

The Faerie Queen was silent for a long time, during which the forest seemed to hold its breath. And then she spoke: “Are you suggesting I simply let him off?”

“Aye,” replied Morgane Le Fay. “Listen, I know it’s a complicated matter. But what if you come with us, and we can have a little talk over some nice tea? Believe me, you will feel better after that.”

There was another silence, this one even heavier than the last. But just as Janet was beginning to fear that the Faerie Queen would get furious and simply strike them all with lightning, she replied, “Very well. I’ll come with you.”

Janet had no words. She simply grasped Tam-Lin once again between her arms, to convince herself it was all real and not some sort of strange dream. 

But as the Faerie Queen was turning away, Janet remembered: “Fine, perfect, but one last thing. What about the tithe of blood that you must pay to the earth, or Hell, or whatever it is?” Tam-Lin was spared, but she couldn’t bear to think of another innocent sacrificed by the Faerie Queen.

“Oh, _that_ ,” the Faerie Queen waved a hand in her direction. “It’s already paid. My plan was to spill what remained of Tam-Lin’s human blood, so that he could be reborn as a Fey, forgetting what it was to be human, and so paying the blood’s price. But it has turned out in the reverse manner. It is Tam-Lin who has died, to be reborn again as Thomas of Roxburgh. The sacrifice was paid.” 

“Ah,” said Tam-Lin, rolled up tightly in Janet’s mantle, for the night was very cold. “It’s _symbolism_ , it isn’t? Even right now. The Maiden, the Mother and the Crone.” 

“I’ve managed to save your life, Thomas,” Morgause said. “So don’t even _dare_ to call me a maiden.”

“And don’t you dare to call me mother,” added Morgane Le Fay.

The Queen of Elfland, for her part, made no reply. Janet wasn’t surprised: after all, the Queen of Elfland was older than the mountains; she could hardly take offense at being called _Crone_.

*

Having a conscience was a great trial for Mordred. Not that he had been born without a conscience – nobody was born evil, after all – but being called _bastard_ , _abomination_ , _Devil’s spawn_ , and _the incestous son of a witch_ his whole life surely hadn’t helped him develop a sense of moral obligation to his fellow beings. What would have been a conscience in anyone else had almost wasted away in him.

Things had changed after Galahad had confessed his love for him, if only a little bit. Recently, Mordred’s conscience had been showing some signs of life, after almost twenty years of absolute silence, and this fact troubled him a lot. He had felt, for the very first time in his life, the desire to do things that made other people happy… and had realized, alarmingly, that doing so made _him_ feel happy.

He had been _genuinely happy_ to help Lady Janet in her troublesome fight against the Faerie Queen, despite knowing how powerful the Queen of Elfhame was. Even if they were going to fail, he had thought, at least the attempt was worth it. 

_At least,_ Mordred thought, _whether we fail or we win, the child won’t be called a bastard, or be seen as an abomination and a monster in the eyes of the smallfolk and the high lords alike._

“Do you think that Lady Janet will succeed?” Galahad asked Mordred. They were wandering into the woods of Carterhaugh, fully armoured and equipped with sacks of iron and salt at their belts, in the case Lady Janet failed and they had to take _extreme measures_ against the Faerie Queen. 

“If I had to bet, I would bet on her.” Mordred thrust away a branch with his sword. “She has character. I think my sisters would have liked her.”

“You don’t talk very much about your sisters,” said Galahad, and Mordred hesitated a little. Talking about his sisters, Clarissant and Soredamor, was a complicated matter. 

Just like everything else about his family.

Like everything else about Mordred’s life, for that matter. 

“Anyway,” continued Galahad, seeing Mordred’s discomfort, “I hope she will succeed. She’s like a knight involved in a great Quest, like you and me… well, like I used to be, once. Even though she is a maiden and her lover is the knight of this situation, of course… but then that too is not dissimilar to how you and I were, once.” 

Mordred was glad that his face was hardly visible in the dark of the night, because he was almost blushing at the memory of Galahad coming to him and saying, with all the candour in the world, that Mordred was now like _his damsel in distress_ , to be saved from Merlin’s cruel prophecy. 

In the name of the Christian God and the pagan ones, that had been awkward. 

Mordred was about to reply when the ring of silver bells – not mortal bells, absolutely _not_ bells made by human beings – interrupted him. Without talking, he gestured to Galahad, and they hid behind the bushes just in time to see three Fey riders approaching. 

They rode horses whose white coats shone almost silver in the moonlight. Two were Fey knights, one dressed in fantastic armour of a material Mordred couldn’t recognize but which surely wasn’t iron, whose vivid colours and design that made him look like a peacock; and the other with armour of golden-red scales that made him look like one of those strange fish Mordred had once found in one of the books of Erodutus. 

The last rider was a lady, clad in a long dress that shone with all the shades of blue. From afar she was incredibly beautiful, but when she came nearer, Mordred saw that her skin was covered in little grey scales, like those of a fish. 

“What are we going to do?” came Galahad’s whisper beside him. 

“Let me think about it,” he replied, trying to come up with _something useful_. After all, Mordred was used to the Fairy Folk: his mother had had dealings with the Faerie Queen for as long as he could remember, his brother had met the Green Knight and married Lady Ragnelle, in whose veins still ran a drop or two of Fey blood, and he himself – but that wasn’t something Galahad could know, at least not in the immediate future – had lost his virginity with a charming mer-man on the shores of Orkney. 

But Mordred had no time to think of anything useful, for the Fey lady stopped just beside the bush where he and Galahad were hiding, and said: “Oh, look, my brave knights, we have visitors!” 

Galahad silently crossed himself and Mordred swore. _Damn,_ he thought. _I thought we were well hidden!_

They drew their swords and emerged from the bushes. 

“I’m Sir Galahad, the warrior of God,” said Galahad. “You may not be servants of the Devil, but you still have to fear Our Lord’s power, and believe me when I say that He gave me the strength of ten men, for my heart is pure.”

Strangely enough, the Fey lady didn’t look particularly moved. Instead, she was staring at Galahad with curiosity. 

“Galahad?” she said. “My boy, is this the way to talk to your mother?”

Galahad took a step back. “What are you talking about?” he said. “My mother is Lady Elaine of Corbenic, and my father Sir Lancelot du Lac!”

“My mistake,” said the Fey lady. “I’ve confused you with your father. You two have the same name… well, before he started being called Lancelot, that is. Human ages are terribly confusing, and you look exactly like your father at your age. Well, all the same… is this any way to speak to your grandmother, Galahad?”

“Grandmother?” Galahad muttered. “My lady… I have no idea who you are!”

“Your father never spoke of me to you? What a pity,” said the Fey lady. “I’m Niniane, the Lady of the Lake of Brittany.” 

“My lady.” Galahad cleared his throat. “I never heard about you. And I’m sorry, but my grandparents are the noble King Ban of Benwick and his lady Elaine, may they rest in peace in Our Lord’s glory…”

“Yes, of course,” the Fey lady said patiently. “They sired your father, Sir Lancelot. But didn’t your father tell you that it was I who rescued him when his parents were cruelly killed, and raised him as if he was my true son? That it was I who made him the greatest knight that ever lived in Britain?”

Galahad took a step back: “I have no idea what you’re talking about, my lady. I know nothing else apart the fact that Ban and Elaine of Benwick are my grandparents from my father’s side… and my mother’s father is King Pelles of Corbenic, the Maimed King, last descendant of Joseph of Arimathea.”

“Oh, _please_!” lady Niniane snorted. “ _Last descendant of Joseph of Arimathea_ … how the story had changed. Don’t try to make me look like a fool, child: I still remember the times of Bran the Blessed and Nuada Airgetlám. But do you truly know nothing of that? Galaha– pardon, _Lancelot_ didn’t tell you? I cast an enchantment upon him: for as long as he keeps his heart pure and remains loyal to his high lord, nobody will ever be able to defeat him.” 

Silence fell in the woods. Galahad looked quite shocked; meanwhile, an unpleasant thought crossed Mordred’s mind. 

“ _A heathen spell?_ ” Galahad managed, eventually. “Are you saying to me that my father became the best knight of the Round Table, the only one that could sire… well, _me_ , whose existence was predicted by Joseph of Arimathea himself, so that I could find the Holy Cup that contained the blood of Our Lord… is so brave and valiant because of a heathen spell?”

Mordred started to laugh. It wasn’t a pleasant laugh. Once, when Mordred had still been a young, untrained squire, the Saxons had taken him captive, thinking they would overcome him easily due his young age. They’d gotten the feeling that things wouldn’t go as they had first imagined when Mordred had started to laugh; and his laugh had only grown more unnerving over the years. “Oh, I might have guessed it. It was _too suspicious_ that my brother, Sir Gawain, _the former finest knight of the Round Table according to everyone in Britain_ , was so easily outclassed by a random Frenchman that suddenly appeared from nowhere. You Fey have this unpleasant habit of interfering in human business, don’t you?”

“I don’t see the problem.” Niniane shrugged. “Your brother too has supernatural powers. Every day at noon his strength increases, don’t you remember?”

“It’s not the same thing!” Mordred pointed his sword towards her. “Please, tell me how Lancelot is still _pure of heart and loyal to his high lord_ after he slept with my step-mother, the High Queen Guinevere.” 

“Well, he never thinks of stabbing Arthur’s back, so the enchantment is still perfectly valid, I would think,” Niniane shrugged. “And for the rest, I never understood why you humans were so obsessed with monogamous relationships. We Fey know better. And, believe me, if you ask your father, I’m sure that he shares my opinion.”

“Nonsense!” shouted Mordred. “Damn Hell, are you saying that _the enchantment works according to Fey canons_? That’s cheating! So,” he took another step towards Niniane, until the point of his sword almost touched the horse’s side, “I must _advise_ you to change the enchantment. Just a little bit. Just to be sure that Lancelot won’t be able to overcome my brother anymore.”

Niniane cast a nervous look upon the sword. As a Fey, she wasn’t particularly troubled by Mordred’s odd look, but a sword made of iron was another thing. But when she spoke again, her tone was furious: “Are you threatening _me_? Me, you bastard born of incest? Don’t even dare! I could crush you like a bug!”

If only Mordred had stopped a minute, he would have realized that attacking a Fey wasn’t a plan that generally benefited anyone’s survival. 

But when he heard _bastard son of incest_ , a crimson veil suddenly fell on his eyes, and without thinking, he leapt in, sword drawn – and was immediately thrown aside by a sudden puff of air. 

Mordred fell heavily on the ground, and there remained, a little numb with the shock. 

He heard a cry, and he could see that the two Fey knights had drawn their swords: long, shining swords that looked like they were made of ice, instead of iron or steel. With just one gesture, Galahad raised his sword, and launched an attack, the steel of the blade meeting the strange Fey sword with a metallic clash. 

They fought for long time, while Mordred struggled to rise, hindered by his armour. But before he could come to Galahad’s aid, the sword of the Grail Knight managed to shatter the sword of the peacock-armoured knight into pieces, soon followed by that of the goldfish knight. 

“That’s impressive,” commented Niniane. “Have you been enchanted by one of us too, Sir Galahad?”

“No unholy spells for me, my lady,” replied Galahad. “As I told you, my strength is as the strength of ten, because my heart is pure.”

Mordred finally managed to rise and went towards Galahad, his head still spinning from the shock. “Oh, for Satan’s butt,” he swore. “Let me have a minute and I’m going to cut that bitch in two pieces. She can have all the magic that she wants, but this is cold iron, and no spell works against iron.”

“Ehm, no. This isn’t a very chivalric thing from your part, my dear,” Galahad replied. “And, even if that part embarrassed me a lot, she’s part of my family – _our family_ , if we decided to be united in the name of Our Lord – and I can’t do anything to harm her.”

Niniane only managed to give Mordred her most charming smile. A smile full of teeth sharp as a shark’s. 

“Well, my lady,” said Galahad. “Since it seems that you are my step-grandmother, will you consider converting yourself to the Christianity? Our Lord makes no distinction between poor beggar and rich merchant, between the beautiful and the ill-gotten, the high lord and the serf, and won’t make distinction between,” he gave Niniane a long look, “the human and the not-human.”

Niniane shook her head. “I’m sorry, my boy, but I’ve heard some things from your priest and, even if that fascinating practice of eating the blood and the flesh of your god sounds very delicious, I fear that the rest wouldn’t fit me very well. I mean, all that talking about chastity.”

A silence fell again in the clearing. Then Mordred said: “Well. At least I’m glad that I’m not the only one with a fucked up family.” 

*

It was a happy ending, of course. But it was also a _complicated one_.

For Janet, it wasn’t simple to explain to her father that she had managed to rescue her child’s father, who was also the last descendant of a long-extinguished family, and whose feud didn’t exist anymore. But three large glasses of malt scotch seemed to assuage most of the Lord of Carterhaugh’s objections.

And so it was that the castle’s chaplain was hastily rousted from his bed to conduct the marriage of Thomas of Roxburgh and Janet of Carterhaugh. 

Three months later, Janet gave birth to Margaret, a lovely little girl with the same grey eyes as her father. 

They celebrated her baptism the same day as Christmas – Thomas, having spent three generations of men in Faerie, didn’t remember very well the meaning of the Christian celebrations, but Galahad was absolutely delighted to teach him – and Janet insisted that Mordred and Galahad take the role of Margaret’s godfathers. The role of the godmother was offered to Janet’s nurse. 

To Janet’s surprise, that Christmas brought Mordred’s older brother Sir Gawain to Carterhaugh, along his wife Lady Ragnelle, and Sir Kay, the seneschal of King Arthur. 

Sir Gawain and Lady Ragnelle were an absolutely lovely couple in Janet’s eyes, Sir Gawain tall and strong-built, with fiery red hair and an easy laugh, and Lady Ragnelle dark-eyed and dark-haired, her mischievous smile betraying the drop of Fey blood that ran her veins. 

It was she who took Janet aside for a moments in the middle of the feast, and softly said to her: “If you need some useful advice, feel free to come to me, my lady. I know how difficult it is for people to have a relationship with someone touched by Faerie: I felt it on my very skin. I would be still trapped in a curse, within the body of a hag too repulsive to look at, if Gawain hadn’t freed me. Your husband was in a similar situation, and I warn you that Tam-Lin will never abandon Thomas, not fully.”

Janet thanked her. She liked Ragnelle; it would be nice, she thought, to have a friend like her, and not only for the advice she could give as the only other person that could understand Janet’s troubled love story. 

When she returned to the hall, she found that Mordred, Galahad, and Thomas had managed to tell the whole tale to Sir Gawain and Sir Kay. The latter, when the tale was finished, shook his head. “Ah!” he said. “The Faerie Queen gave up something for the sake of _true love_! It’s very true that times have changed, even for the Fairy Folk! In my day, things were different. I still remember Gwyn ap Nudd, ah, that bloody bastard. He kidnapped a girl and slew all the soldiers of her fiancé. Ah! _That_ was a mess.”

“I know,” said Thomas. “I met him once. Not a… pleasant one, for sure.”

“Don’t speak of such things in front of Margaret!” Janet interrupted them. 

“You’re right, my dear.” Thomas rose to greet his wife, taking her into his arms. Janet embraced him back, not caring that they were in the middle of the hall. After all, the guests were all there to attend the baptism of a girl conceived in the middle of the woods, by a young mortal lady and an elfin-knight. 

Janet took a deep breath, and put her head to rest on Thomas’s shoulder. Her life had been a mess for a long time, certainly, and she knew that the things wouldn’t be normal anymore. 

But as long as she, and Thomas, and _Margaret now_ were happy, she couldn’t care less.

**Author's Note:**

> Some notes:
> 
> The Latin tale Janet is talking about is the myth of Eros and Psyche, as told by Apuleius in _The golden donkey_. In the tale, a mortal girl, Psyche, is cursed by the goddess Venus to marry a monster so terrible that even the gods feared his power. The monster is later revealed to be Eros, the god of love. This tale knew widespread popularity in the Middle Ages. 
> 
> **Arawn** : the Lord of Annwn, the Welsh Otherworld. In the First Branch of Mabinogion, the hero Pwyll happened to meet Arawn during a hunt, and exchanged places with him for a year. The tale, according to some scholars, shared a lot of similarities with the Arthurian tale of _Sir Gawain and the Green Knight_. I know that Tam-Lin being a Scottish tale, it had nothing to do with Arawn, but I couldn’t find someone that could be a satisfying Scottish equivalent of Arawn. But I admit that I know very little about Scottish myths, so feel free to tell me anything about the topic!
> 
>  **Nuada Airgetlám** : according to Irish mythology, the King of the Tuatha Dé Danann, who lost an arm and then got it replaced by a silver one. For some scholars, the name ‘Nuada’ could be interpreted as ‘fisher’; that’s why there’s a theory that Nuada could be related in some ways to the Fisher King figure. 
> 
> **Bran the Blessed** : a giant king of Britain in Welsh mythology, who appears in the Second Branch of the Mabinogion. He gave a magic cauldron that possessed the ability of resurrecting the dead to his brother-in-law Matholwch as compensation for an act of treachery from Bran’s half-brother, when Matholwch came to Wales to marry Bran’s sister, Branwen. 
> 
> **Gwyn ap Nudd** : according to Welsh mythology, the King of the Tylwyth Teg, the Welsh Fairy Folk, and a psychopomp associated with the Wild Hunt, and the rulership of Annwn. In the tale of _Culhwch and Olwen_ , King Arthur sought his aid to hunt an enormous boar. It was in _Culhwch and Olwen_ that Gwyn ap Nudd is said to have abducted Creiddylad (who according to some tales was Gwyn’s own sister) to her betrothed, Gwythyr, a warrior of Arthur’s entourage, and killed all the army that Gwythyr raised against him. The kidnapping of Creiddylad was resolved by King Arthur himself, who established that Gwyn and Gwythyr would fight every May Day until the Judgement Day. According to some interpretation, this fight represents the continue strife between summer and winter (since Gwyn ap Nudd is usually associated with winter).


End file.
